My Teenage Sweetheart
“How many nights I dreamed of you—only to wake up hating you?”
Tears pricked my eyes, but before I could speak, his mouth captured mine again.
Clothes became nothing between us, falling away in hurried movements, as if they were chains we needed to break. His hands traced the lines of my body with reverence and urgency, like he had been memorizing me in his head for years and was finally allowed to touch.
When he entered me, it wasn’t just passion—it was release. Years of longing, pain, anger, and love crashed together. I clung to him, nails digging into his back, whispering his name like a prayer.
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